


Discipline

by feather_aesthetic



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/F, tickle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 12:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feather_aesthetic/pseuds/feather_aesthetic
Summary: “Michael,” she called softly.  “It’s time to wake up now.”  Michael’s face pinched.“Mom?” she murmured.  The Captain shook her head gently.“It’s Philippa.  You’re having a nightmare.”  Michael whimpered, writhing even more, despite the Captain’s efforts to calm her.





	Discipline

Stardate 1194.7

Planet Tulsa II

Commander Burnham ducked under the sword of a Tulsian tribesman, popping up behind him and firing her phaser at point-blank range. Lucky for him, it was set to stun, but his back would be pretty sore when he woke up. She put her back to her Captain’s, protecting her and trusting that her Captain was doing the same. Together, they shot down nearly two dozen tribesmen, thinning out the seemingly-endless horde, before they were separated again when a Tulsian charged right at them, knocking Michael to the ground. They tussled for a moment before she stunned him with a particularly strong uppercut, then got him with her phaser. An upwards glance told her that Captain Georgiou had been carried a few meters away from her by the battle, but was still safe. Michael quickly refocused her attention on the carnage around her. It was supposed to have been a simple mission, retrieve the probe from where it had crashed on the planet’s surface, avoid the primitive natives, and continue on their way. As usual, nothing had gone as planned: the probe had been in a location impossible to transport to due to magnetic interference, so they’d had to materialize a few kilometers away and walk to the probe, free it from the surrounding rock debris, and haul it back to their beamup location. Unsurprisingly, some natives had found them, and just as they were about to beam up to the Shenzhou, fell upon them, primitive weapons held aloft. Michael did her best to inch closer to her Captain over the course of the battle, but the Tulsians were pretty handy with their metal weapons.

That was when it happened. A flicker of movement caught her eye, a Tulsian taking advantage of an opening behind her Captain, moving in for the kill. Her phaser was knocked out of her hand by a Tulsian barreling past her, and the Captain was distracted trying to shoot several Tulsians off one of their fallen crew members. Michael did the only thing she could think of in that moment: she ran the five steps it took to reach her Captain and threw herself in front of her, just in time for the Tulsian’s sword to thrust through her chest and out her back. He snarled and yanked his sword back out of her, the light of the planet’s twin suns glancing off his mottled blue skin as he held his sword aloft and yelled his victory. The pain was exactly like she’d imagined, like her chest was being torn in half. It left her breathless, too breathless to cry out, and instead she fell, blurry vision filled with the red sky of the planet Tulsa. 

Captain Georgiou held her phaser in both hands, rapidly focusing her aim and firing on the Tulsian warriors rampaging towards her. She felt Michael at her back, right where she always was, protecting her 6. She felt a flash of panic when a Tulsian appeared out of nowhere and crashed into her first officer, bowling her over, but a quick backwards glance showed that she was already getting to her feet. A lieutenant had been surrounded by several of the warriors and was on his back, firing wildly at the aliens that were quickly overwhelming him. She focused her fire on the creatures standing above him, hoping that they wouldn’t fall on top of him when they were stunned. A loud roar from behind her caught her attention, and the answering shouts from the rest of the warriors made her stomach flip. Drawn by the Tulsian’s victory call, Captain Georgiou whirled to find her second-in-command writhing weakly on the ground, blue uniform stained darker from the blood seeping from her chest. She stunned the warrior with the blood-stained blade before he could even close his mouth, and in an instant she was by her first officer’s side, one hand pressed to her wound to stem the bleeding and the other cradling her head.

Through drooping eyelids and teary vision, Michael saw her Captain’s face come into focus. Instead of her usual smirk and happiness, her face was creased and distraught. Over the din of the ongoing battle, she heard her Captain’s voice screaming into her comm badge for emergency beamup. Her eyes were shutting no matter how hard she tried to keep them open, tried to listen to her Captain telling her not to go to sleep, but the tingling of the transporter beam was the last thing she felt before she sunk into blackness.

* * *

 

As soon as Michael felt her body return to her control, she could tell something was wrong. Her chest felt light and fluttery, her bed was stiffer and colder than usual, the usual soft cotton of her sleep clothes was nowhere to be found. Something warm was enclosing her right hand, clasping it tightly. Michael replayed her last memories in her head, and it became increasingly clear to her that she was in sickbay. She waited until she felt in full control of her movements to open her eyes, squinting in the bright light as Captain Georgiou’s face came into focus. She was gazing distantly at a wall, face pinched with worry and exhaustion. Michael flexed her fingers within her Captain’s grip, letting her know she was awake. Immediately, the Captain released her hand. Michael reached out for a moment, missing the contact from the woman that had become like a mother to her, but she let her hand drop onto the bio-bed, chiding herself for being illogical. 

“Doctor!” the Captain summoned Lieutenant Commander Nambue. He seemed both pleased and irritated that she was awake, likely because she was his least favourite patient.

“I see you’re awake, Commander Burnham. I was beginning to worry that wouldn’t wake up. The Tulsian weapon that injured you missed your heart by mere millimeters. It was thanks to the Captain’s immediate response that you were able to be saved.” Before he could continue, the Captain interrupted him, now standing over her first officer. 

“You took a sword for me, Michael. Nearly through the heart.” Michael shrugged, then tried to hide the wince that followed, but from the narrowing of her Captain’s eyes, she had noticed. “That was incredibly stupid, Michael. You were almost killed!”

“It was me or you, Captain,“ her voice was huskier than normal, “and I wasn’t going to let it be you.” Captain Georgiou paused, clearly trying to think of a rebuttal, but before she could, the shipwide intercom interrupted with its telltale pop.

“Captain to the bridge.” The Captain’s lips thinned slightly, and she stared at her first officer for a moment.

“That was foolish, Michael.” With that, she turned and left, and the sight of her retreating back sent a tiny twinge of hurt through Michael’s heart, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it. The doctor approached and gave her strict instructions for a minimum of three days of medical leave in which she was to participate in no physical activity, which she listened to with only half an ear. Most of her attention was on replaying her mental image of her Captain’s angry face. In all her years working with the woman, she’d only ever made her proud.

* * *

 

Michael hated medical leave. She was of the opinion that it was utterly useless. It did, however, give her the chance to catch up on some paperwork, so that was something. She dove into the menial bookwork with a drive unusual for her, eager to dismiss the visions of her Captain’s death that haunted her. She tried comming the woman a few times in her off-hours, but each time the answer was the same: she was busy, too busy to even grab some dinner with her first officer. It stung a little, but like with everything else, Michael shoved it down until she couldn’t feel it anymore.

She had been back on duty for about a week before it happened, a week of Captain Georgiou steadfastly ignoring the glances her first officer would send her way, a week of convincing herself that Michael’s puffy, exhausted eyes were just a figment of her own imagination. One morning, her ever-punctual first officer simply didn’t show up. Figuring that there was a first time for everything, and trying to give her first officer the benefit of the doubt, the Captain, and her entire bridge crew, waited with anticipation for the hiss of the bridge turbolift doors. After 10 minutes of near-silence on her normally buzzing bridge, Captain Georgiou rolled her eyes and attempted to comm her second in command, to no avail. 

“Computer, locate Commander Burnham.” 

“Commander Burnham is in her quarters.” The Captain frowned. It took another 20 minutes, a brief distraction avoiding an approaching comet, and several unaccepted comms before the Captain sighed heavily, stood up, and left the bridge. 

“Saru, you have the bridge.”

Stopping in front of Michael’s quarters’ doors, the Captain listened for a moment, but she didn’t hear any signs of a struggle, or, thank goodness, a scandalous rendezvous with a crewmate. 

“Computer, open these doors, security override Captain Philippa Georgiou, USS Shenzhou.” The computer beeped its compliance and the doors slid open. Commander Burnham, she noted, was still in bed. As her eyes adjusted further to the near-darkness and she stepped inside, she could see her first officer tossing and turning beneath her sheets, could hear choked whimpers emanating from her mouth. As Captain Georgiou drew closer, she could see Michael’s back arching, lean muscles filled with tension, and she could hear her brokenly whispering her name, over and over again. The Captain sat down on the bed next to her first officer, rubbing her arm and trying to wake her.

“Michael,” she called softly. “It’s time to wake up now.” Michael’s face pinched.

“Mom?” she murmured. The Captain shook her head gently.

“It’s Philippa. You’re having a nightmare.” Michael whimpered, writhing even more, despite the Captain’s efforts to calm her. With a final, stifled sob, she jerked awake, jolting upright in her bed. 

Michael bolted upright, breathing erratic and heartrate wild. She closed her eyes against the dark room, breathing in and out and counting like Sarek had taught her when she’d had nightmares about the Klingon attack. When her breathing had calmed enough to keep her from having a panic attack, she began whispering reassurances to herself, to convince her heart of what her brain already knew.

“It was just a dream, Michael. Philippa’s asleep in her quarters. Just another nightmare.” The Captain had been reaching out to touch her shoulder, but stopped at the sound of her name. Her first officer still had her eyes squeezed shut, tears glistening on her cheeks and body quivering from her nightmare. “Computer,” Michael sighed. “Time?” Before the computer could answer, Philippa decided that she had sat there unnoticed long enough.

“Michael.” she said, as gently as she could. Michael gasped so quickly that her breath caught harshly in her throat, head whipping around to stare at her Captain. Her reaction was a testament to how vulnerable she was, that she could be scared so easily.

“Captain, I didn’t realize you were- why are you-“ she stammered, before the realization hit her. “Computer, time?”

“The time is 0853, Commander Burnham.”

She drew her knees up to her chest and laid her head on them, letting the sheet covering her kneecaps soak up the tears still lingering in her eyes and hoping Philippa hadn’t noticed.

“I’m late for my shift. Apologies captain. It won’t happen again.“

“It certainly won’t. You clearly aren’t feeling better, so I’m putting you back on leave until you recover.” This declaration brought fresh tears, and Michael was thankful Philippa couldn’t see her face. Without her job to distract her, she’d have no choice but to deal with her nightmares, even in the daytime.

“Captain I-“ Philippa cut her off.

“That’s an order, Number One.” Michael lets out a shaky breath. 

“Yes captain.” Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. She knew Philippa could hear just how raw her voice was, the slight lilt to her words indicating tears. Philippa’s face softened in the dim light, and she reached an arm out to sooth her first officer, stroking sleep-mussed hair and working her fingers through the tangled mass, eventually settling on scratching at the back of her head near her neck. Michael’s shoulders loosened, and her breathing evened out at the treatment.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t sleeping well?” Her voice was quiet in the stillness of the room.

“It’s irrelevant to the functioning of the ship.” 

“But it’s not irrelevant to your functioning, and you are very relevant to the functioning of this ship.” 

“Captain, ever since you left me in sickbay you’ve wanted nothing to do with me. Even if I had wanted to tell you, you probably would’ve had more reports to do, and you…” she trailed off. She should sit up, stop hiding her face like a terrified child. “You’re angry enough with me as it is. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Michael…” her voice was soft and filled with guilt. She slid her hand to Michael’s shoulder, pulling the younger woman towards her and laying her down. Michael complied, curling up like a puppy in her lap and submitting to Philippa’s petting. “I’m not angry with you. When you were stabbed, I thought for sure that I would not see you alive again. I carried you from the transporter room to sickbay myself, I sat by you for over a day while the doctor tried to save you, while you lay there unresponsive. We’ve been together for 6 years, Michael. I don’t get attached easily, but I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.”

“Would you rather I had done nothing, had let you die? I like my job as first officer, you know.” Her words were strong, but her voice was quiet, almost dreamy from Philippa’s fingers tracing shapes across her shoulders blade. Philippa chuckled softly. 

“I know.”

“I don’t- I can’t lose you either,” she mumbled.

“Is that what you dream about?” Michael whimpered slightly. 

“I see what would have happened if I had been a second slower. I see your face and I carry you to sickbay and I sit by you but Captain, you never wake up.” Philippa’s hand moved back to stroking her hair, hand firm and protective, like Michael could vaguely remember her own mother doing for her so long ago.

“I’m right here Michael. I’m not going anywhere.” Michael couldn’t help herself. She knew it was childish and ridiculous and totally unbecoming, but she was already crying in her Captain’s lap. 

“Do you promise?” Philippa barely caught the murmured words, and a smile touched her face when she realized what her mature, logical, first officer had asked of her. Fingernails scratched at the back of Michael’s neck, making her eyelids flutter.

“I promise, Michael.” With that reassurance, and Philippa’s fingers stroking the soft spot behind her ear, Michael drifted off, snuggling unconsciously closer in her sleep. 

Philippa smiled down at her, raking fingernails gently through her hair. It was as though a kitten had fallen asleep in her lap. As quietly as she could, she tapped her comm badge to contact Lieutenant Commander Saru.

“Yes Captain?”

“Commander Burnham isn’t feeling well. Neither of us will be returning to the bridge.”

“Did you take her to sickbay, Captain?”

“No, she just needs some rest.”

“Then, if I may ask, Captain, why aren’t you returning?” Philippa paused.

“Commander Burnham has… fallen asleep.” When nothing but confused silence came from the other end of the comm channel, she elaborated, “On me.” The chorus of ‘awwww’s that emanated from her comm badge make it clear that Saru hadn’t been the sole recipient of her words, and she quickly ended the call, shaking her head at the antics of her crew.

 

Michael slowly awoke to the dim light of the padd her Captain was working on, one hand tapping away at the screen and the other still absentmindedly trailing down her spine. She brought a hand up from where it was curled against her chest to rub at her eyes, crusty from her tears.

“Captain?” The woman in question hummed questioningly and switched off her padd, dragging her fingers down the back of Michael’s arm. “How long…” she trailed off when she felt both of Philippa’s hands begin working through the hair at the base of her skull. Michael heard the Captain let out a small snort at her inability to continue speaking, and she bit her lip to keep a happy grin from appearing on her face. Mustering up enough resistance to the sensations, she valiantly attempted to continue, “How long have I…” The Captain’s hands moved lower, fingernails gently scratching along the edges of her shoulder blades, and Michael was unable to suppress her shiver of pleasure as the tingles travelled down the length of her spine. Smiling fondly down at her first officer, Philippa eventually took pity on her.

“A few hours.”

“And you sat here,” she sighed happily, “all that time? What about bridge duty?” she murmured, still having trouble formulating sentences. 

“Saru has the bridge. And I have you.” Michael couldn’t keep the smile off her face any longer, and if her eyes were open, she would see the matching one on Philippa’s. “You know you talk in your sleep?” she teased. Michael scoffed, uncurling long legs to stretch them out. 

“No I don’t.” Philippa chuckled.

“You do so. You were muttering about Vulcan ears being square-shaped just a few minutes ago.” Picturing this, Michael suppressed a giggle. “And before that,” she continued, “you were arguing with someone, me I think, about becoming the ship’s official ballerina.” Michael covered reddening cheeks with her hands and rolled over to hide her face.

“Nooooooo!” she whined.

“And before that,” Philippa teased, “you were describing the life of a phaser.”

“You’re making this up,” Michael giggled, unable to hold back her amusement any longer. She pulled herself up until she was sitting beside her Captain, legs dangling over the edge of her bed and head resting on Philippa’s shoulder. 

“Are you accusing your Captain of lying?” Philippa’s voice was light and teasing, and Michael had never seen her so mischievous before. Feeling a playful grin creep onto her face, she decided to play along.

“Maybe I am. Are you gonna court-martial me, Captain?” The banter made her feel lighter than she had in years, light and fluttery and happy.

Philippa felt her lips twist into a smile.

“I like to handle my discipline personally.” 

“Oh really?” Michael singsonged. “And what would that entail?”

Philippa smirked and poked at her stomach, grinning when she jerked away, mouth round with shock. Ever since that day in the Jefferies Tube when she’d jabbed her first officer in the side with a sonic driver and made her jump so high she’d hit her head on the ceiling, Philippa had filed that particular piece of information away for future use. 

“Well usually,” she poked at her a few more times, smiling at Michael’s efforts to stifle her giggles, “I would confine you to quarters,” Michael snorted when Philippa’s finger touched a spot just beneath her ribs. “But in this case,” she walked her fingers up Michael’s sides and her first officer twisted, trying to grab Philippa’s hands, “I think I can make an exception.” 

“How-“ Michael broke off when all the air left her lungs, courtesy of Philippa’s hands finding purchase on her ribs and pinching, “How kihihind of you.” Her words were filled with giggles now, laughter that she couldn’t suppress even if she tried. “But if…” she trailed off, overcome with breathy laughter for a moment, “if it’s all the same to you, Captain,” she fell onto her back, abs weakened by Philippa’s attack, and the Captain followed her, grinning. “I’ll take being confined to quarters.” Michael waited nervously, half-smiling, feeling the playful tension in the air. Philippa pretended to consider it for a moment, before grinning and shaking her head.

“Hmmm… no.” Michael made an indignant noise of mock outrage before Philippa spidered mischievous fingers all over her first officer’s stomach, making her break down in a fit of laughter. Philippa smiled fondly at her. It wasn’t often that she got to hear the laughter of her Vulcan-raised first officer, and now that she was, she couldn’t get enough of it. It was as though being raised on Vulcan, being taught to suppress her emotions, and as a consequence, never laughing, her laugh had never developed fully, and it had remained as the childish, infectious giggles she heard now. Michael tried to bat her hands away, but with her eyes squeezed shut and her arms weakened from laughter, she wasn’t very successful. 

“Ihihihihi’m pretty suhuhure that this ihihihihihis against Stahahaharfleet- AAH!” she shrieked when Philippa pinched her sides. “Regulations!” she managed to get out, before she was overcome with those adorable, breathless giggles.

“Well, you can take it up with Starfleet later. Besides,” she grinned, suddenly fluttering her fingers over Michael’s neck and collarbone, “there’s no regulation stopping me from making my first officer laugh.” Michael’s laughter became, if possible, even cuter at the assault on her neck, higher pitched and more frequent as she squished her shoulders against her neck in a largely unsuccessful effort to block out Philippa’s hands.

“Tohohohohorture ihihis ahahaillegal!” she laughed, attempting to cover her mouth to stifle the noise. Philippa targeted the woman’s stomach through her cotton shirt, laughing at the shriek her actions earned. 

“Nice try,” she teased, nimble fingers working their way up her sides while Michael squirmed helplessly beneath her. The spot around and below her navel, Philippa found, was bad enough to turn her giggles into adorable, bubbly laughter.

“Nahahahahahat thehehehehere,” she pleaded, snapping her arms down to little avail, and Philippa laughed at how quickly her logical attempts at reasoning with her had turned to begging. She didn’t think of herself as a cruel Captain, but she wasn’t about to give in the pleas of her first officer just yet.

“And why not?” Michael spluttered, clearly trying to come up with an answer other than ‘it tickles’. She tried to open her eyes to tell where the next assault would be, but all Michael could see was her Captain’s loving smile as she tickled her half to death.

“What about here, then,” she squeezed her ribs, “or here,” she wriggled her fingers in the spot below her ribcage, “or here,” she tried to worm her fingers under her arms. Michael’s laughter jumped with each new spot, joyous sounds bubbling up uncontrollably from her core. She squealed, actually squealed, and kicked out when Philippa found that spot on her side near her hip.

“NOHOHOHOHohoho!” Philippa chuckled at the sheer cuteness of her first officer, working her fingers around her hipbone and drawing more squeals and bright, helpless laughter.

It had been decades since anyone had done this to her, decades since she had laughed this much, but she still loved it. The tingles shooting up her spine made her squeal, and either she was still as ticklish as she had been as a child, or Philippa was exceptionally good at this. Both seemed likely. Michael had never felt so playful, so childish, so happy. She felt loved, felt it like a blanket over the whole room, settling around her heart like a warm, fluffy dog curled up with a child. Somehow, Philippa’s teasing made her heart feel even warmer, although she could feel her face getting warmer at the playful words as well. Still, it was nice to know that, as helpless as she was, all Philippa wanted to do was mess with her about it. She did feel a tiny bit of regret as Philippa found her hipbone, squeezing at what had always been her worst spot and sending her into a squealing fit.

“Phihihilipahahahahaha!” She kicked out as the electric sensations shot through her body, turning her limbs to jelly and her squealing laughter breathless. It was the first time she’d ever called her Captain by her first name, and she never would have if she’d been thinking straight, which was somewhat hard to do when her brain was preoccupied with not imploding from the tingly sensations darting all throughout her limbs.

“Oh, so it’s Philippa now?” the Captain asked gleefully, grinning at the hysterical edge to her first officer’s laughter. She must have sensed Michael’s exhaustion though, because she finally let up, trailing fingertips through Michael’s hair in an attempt to calm her. Though her laughter had tapered off, residual giggles still filled the air as the sensations faded away. Philippa flopped down on the bed next to her.

“That was fun,” she grinned. Michael gaped and shoved at her, indignant.

“For who?” Philippa shook her head amusedly at her first officer.

“Well, I proved that the Vulcans haven’t completely sucked all the fun out of you.” The Captain seemed very proud of her achievement, and Michael rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure which of them was less mature.

“I’m fun,” she grumbled, hiding her face in Philippa’s shoulder. 

“Uh-huh.” The sarcasm was evident in her Captain’s voice.

“Shut up!” she squawked, indignant.

“Whatever you say.” Michael stuck her tongue out, snuggling closer and burying her face further into the crook of Philippa’s neck, breath evening out. It wasn’t long before she drifted off to sleep once more, lulled by her Captain’s gentle breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm feather-aesthetic on tumblr, come yell at me or follow for more fics, I publish on there before I do on here so if you like my stuff you'll get it faster on that hellsite


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